Once upon a time, in a quaint country setting, there lived a little boy. Life in the countryside was simple, but there was one aspect that the boy despised – the outhouse. With its scorching heat in the summer, bone-chilling cold in the winter, and an unwavering stench, it was a place the boy dreaded.
Sitting on the edge of a babbling creek, the outhouse seemed to taunt the boy day after day. He fantasized about liberating himself from this torment by pushing it into the creek. And so, one fateful day, after a refreshing spring rain, the creek swelled up, beckoning the little boy to take action.
With determination in his heart, the boy grabbed a sturdy stick, ready to seize the opportunity. He pushed with all his might, refusing to let his small size deter him. Slowly but surely, the outhouse teetered and finally gave in, toppling into the creek like a defeated giant. It floated away, carried by the rushing water.
That evening, as darkness settled and the family gathered for supper, the boy’s father announced that they would be heading to the woodshed afterward. Fear gripped the boy’s heart, knowing all too well what awaited him there. Curiosity overpowering his anxiety, he bravely asked his father why they needed to go to the woodshed.
In a stern yet compassionate tone, his father responded, “Son, someone pushed the outhouse into the creek today. Was it you?” The boy hesitated for a moment before summoning the courage to admit his actions. He nodded, confirming that it was indeed him.
Then, a glimmer of hope appeared in the boy’s eyes as he recalled a story from school. “Dad,” he began, “today we learned about George Washington chopping down a cherry tree and how he didn’t get into trouble because he told the truth.”
The father, not one to be swayed easily, smiled and replied, “Ah, but you see, son, George Washington’s father wasn’t in that cherry tree.”
